


Sweet Heartbreak

by lovesrogue36



Category: Fringe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-31
Updated: 2012-01-31
Packaged: 2017-10-30 10:27:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/330724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovesrogue36/pseuds/lovesrogue36
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You live in a world where I don’t exist. How can I be the one that’s supposed to… supposed to… fill that deep ache for you?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Heartbreak

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Fringe nor am I associated with JJ Abrams, Anna Torv or Joshua Jackson.

“You loved her, the other me.” Olivia sipped at her glass slowly, watching him over the rim, the dark masculinity of the wood and brass bar around them casting shadows over his already unreadable face.

Rubbing his thumb silently over the glass resting just barely against the bar top, he seemed to gather his thoughts before answering simply, “Yes. _Love_. I _love_ her.”

The clock had ticked all the way to two am before they finally wandered side-by-side back to the Harvard house of his non-existent childhood, arms almost-but-not-quite brushing. He paused at the door, a distant memory wanting him to invite her in but an ever-present guilt holding him back.

“Peter-”

He shifted at the sound of her voice, that voice that haunted his every dream, calling to him. “I- My whole life, it’s felt as though there was something- missing-”

Peter flinched softly as her fingers sought his, just enough alcohol between them to make the moment seem dreamy instead of awkward. Her free hand slid up his chest, fingers curling under the lapel of his peacoat, eyes wide open and boring into his.

The short few weeks he had known _this_ version of her, he knew this was by far uncharacteristic but he could _just_ imagine it was his Olivia, his Olivia begging to be kissed. Her lips brushed across his, not quite tentatively, lashes fluttering shut over glazed green eyes.

It was sweet satisfaction, sweet _release_ , to kiss her again but- how would she ever forgive him, give him a third chance, when he found her again? How would they ever have that life with the wedding rings and the house and the baby on the way?

Wrapping his fingers gently around her arms, Peter pushed her away, the confusion in her eyes breaking what was left of his heart to be broken. “I’m sorry. It’s not _me_.”

“Wh-”

Peter shook his head, trying to get a grip on the words that would make it all okay, if only until morning. “You live in a world where I don’t _exist_. How can I be the one that’s supposed to… supposed to… fill that deep _ache_ for you?” Stroking blond hair, just the wrong shade, away from her face, he bit his lip, voice dropping almost to a whisper. “He’s there, just around the corner, or, or maybe you just haven’t noticed him yet… Don’t let me keep you from him.”

Olivia swallowed hard, tip of her tongue sweeping across her lips. “But you make me feel… you make me _feel_ , Bishop,” she whispered back, short nails biting into the wool of his lapels.

“You know what she makes me feel? She makes me cross universes. More than once. I sacrificed everything for her once and I buried her once. I left the mother I had lost for her. I abandoned her. She broke my heart. She makes me _hurt_. Do I make you hurt?” Large hands cupping her cheeks, he whispered the last against the shell of her ear so to anyone passing by they might have looked like lovers, like sweethearts.

She squeezed her eyes shut, the passion and sorrow in his voice _crushing_. “No,” she whispered back, the solitary word painting a promise across his skin, reminding him why he was there, not to get too comfortable, that she’s not _his…_

“Go, Livia. Live your life. Forget about me.”

Fringe events don’t keep office hours and it was another two in the morning that he walked into the lab, rubbing sleep out of his eyes and popping mints to cover the scent of Scotch. Pausing in the doorway, he quieted, watching her read a computer screen over Lincoln’s shoulder. The weight of his stare drew her eyes up to his and he lifted a hand in greeting, hoping she hadn’t yet decided to hate him but before she could do more than simply acknowledge him, another voice dragged her away again.

Lincoln glanced up as she stopped paying him mind. “You okay?”

A tiny smile pulled at the corners of her lips as she dropped her gaze to his, hand squeezing his shoulder. “Fine. I’m fine,” she murmured. “Going to be fine.”


End file.
